


The Fools on the Hill

by dorky (dorcas_gustine)



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorcas_gustine/pseuds/dorky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Put together, they shouldn't work. But they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fools on the Hill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tulina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tulina/gifts).



> Thanks to Loz for the beta and the brilliant suggestions! :)  
> More pre-slashy than slashy.

Gene watched as Sam peeled the label off the almost empty whiskey bottle. It looked to be serious work that warranted all the big pillock's attention. Not that it surprised him in any way. No, Sam Tyler was a self-professed perfectionist that had to do everything thoroughly and according to protocol.

Even peeling labels needed a proper procedure, apparently, since now Sammy-boy was slowly but surely scratching the glue away with a fingernail.

Gene blinked to uncross his eyes. "Don't know why I'm here," he muttered, voice hoarse with all the smoking and the drinking of the whiskey from the almost empty bottle Tyler was now administering his care to.

Sam shrugged and went on with the scratch-scratch. His nail looked disgusting with all the glue sticking to it.

"Reckon you haven't got anything more interesting to look at," Sam said after a long while.

If not for his words, Gene would have assumed Tyler was all lost in that big poncy head of his and had all forgotten about him.

Gene snorted in derision, but it was hard to argue the point when they'd been drinking in the dark for at least an hour in Tyler's rat-hole that he called home, after hours spent staring at the increasingly empty glasses down at the pub.

Gene glanced at the plate he'd been using as an ashtray.

It was overflowing.

 

*  
**  
*

 

Thing was, Sam Tyler was a bloody poncy prick who talked too much for his own good and was as barmy as Gene's old aunt Emily half the time and just a plain pain in the arse the rest of the time.

But he was interesting.

Cartwright would say that was his charm, but Gene wasn't a soggy plonk with big eyes.

Sam Tyler wasn't bloody charming. He was a mad bastard. Who was interesting.

 

*  
**  
*

 

Ray slapped Garrity in cuffs and Gene watched as he dragged the bastard away, kicking and screaming bloody murder. Too bad for Garrity there had been a bloody murder, the one he'd committed.

Gene mentally counted to ten, and Tyler didn't disappoint. He showed up around four, flailing in his face with that look in his eyes that meant he would have liked nothing better than getting punched in the stomach.

Well, who was Gene to disappoint him?

Tyler's breath rushed out of him in a quiet 'oof'.

"You- _bastard_," Sam hissed through gritted teeth. "What do you think it's going to happen now?"

Gene frowned and pursued his lips, pretending to consider the question. "Let me see," he said. "Murderer caught, case closed, trip to the pub, sky's the limit."

Sam shook his head with a snort.

"What is it, Gladys?" Gene asked with a snort of his own. "You and your bloody bleedin' heart. He did it, he killed the bloke. I don't care how much time you wasted with Garrity, and what were you doing anyway, braiding each other's hair?"

"Right," Sam nodded. "Right, of course. I was working my angle, but no! We had to do this the Hunt's way, insults and brutality in the interrogation room. Oh, excuse me, the _Lost and Found_!"

"I don't know what crawled up your arse, Tyler, but don't make it my problem."

Tyler opened his mouth to retort with something that was going to annoy Gene and make him late for the pub, but halfway through he seemed to rethink.

Sam gave a half-laugh and shook his head. "I swear, sometimes I don't know what the hell I'm doing here," he said. Then more quietly he added, "I don't know why I came back."

_You and me both, Tyler,_ Gene didn't say.

"Why, for me charming self!" he said instead. "And Cartwright's tits, of course." Sam glared at him. "Oh, I'm sorry. I meant WPC Cartwright's tits."

Sam shook his head again. "I'm out of here," he said, and then he was.

Gene was left staring at the place Tyler had just vacated.

 

*  
**  
*

 

Gene didn't hear from Sam the whole week-end. He went by his tiny, smelly flat, but he wasn't there.

He was probably skipping through meadows hand in hand with Cartwright, anyway.

He curled his lips at the sight of the bed. Bloody uncomfortable that, and he was speaking from personal experience. He couldn't fathom how Sam managed to sleep there night after night.

Maybe that was why he was always such a contrary little bastard most of the time, that bed looked and felt like there was no good side to get up from in the morning.

He cast one last glance at the room before getting out, closing the door behind him. Tyler had given him a set of keys, tired of him always kicking down his door.

But that was Tyler, taking the fun out of everything.

 

*  
**  
*

 

Sam's flat and Sam's desk at the office looked the same. As clean as they could get, and always tidy.

They looked like no one had ever been there.

That was the impression one had with Tyler.

Gene sometimes got the feeling that he ceased to exist whenever no one was looking at him.

But it was late and the bar in front of him was littered with too many - even by Gene's standards - empty beer glasses.

Next to him, the stool was empty.

On the other side of the bar Nelson just smiled at him and kept cleaning the glass.

 

*  
**  
*

 

Gene scowled down at the papers and when he signed at the bottom of the page, he did it in a way that suggested the files had done something to him and he was getting his revenge.

He tossed the papers in the folder, closed it and pushed it away from him. The cover was stained with cigarette ashes and what looked like tea, or whiskey. He wasn't sure.

Chris fidgeted in front of him.

"What?" he barked. "Take it, toss it in the Collator's Den."

Chris fidgeted some more.

Gene took a long breath, pinched the bridge of his nose and lit a cigarette. "What is it, Chris?"

"Um, you should add the code, for proper filing," Chris replied.

"The code. For proper filing," Gene repeated. "I seem to remember the proper filing was signing the bottom and then tossing the lot in the Collator's Den."

"Ah, yes," Chris said, but he didn't pick up the folder. "It used to be. The Boss came up with another filing procedure, that way finding stuff is much easier."

Gene rolled his eyes and gestured at him to get on with it. When Chris didn't seem to get it, he pushed the folder even closer to him. "Go on then, write down the code and bring it to the Collator's Den," he said. "Make Tyler happy."

Chris nodded and sprang forward. He scrawled a combination of letters and numbers on the folder's cover and then got out of Gene's office. A few seconds later the door opened again and Chris' head poked in. "Guv," he said and then he was out again.

Gene took one last, long drag of the cigarette and then threw it on the floor, stepping on it on his way to his office cabinets.

He opened a drawer at random and took out a folder.

Sure enough on the cover there was a series of number and letters written in Tyler's clear handwriting.

Gene snorted, a slow grin spreading on his lips.

 

*  
**  
*

 

Tyler growled and pushed, Gene pushed right back. Sam's hot breath, as hot as his temper Gene wagered, washed over his face.

Standing like this, grunting into each other's face, they were either too close or not enough. A fight or a snog both looked as likely an outcome.

Either way, Tyler was going to get punched in the face.

 

*  
**  
*

 

"You're a good copper, Tyler," Gene said, breaking the long lasting silence.

Sam's flat was dark; they never bothered to turn on the lights for their after-the-pub drinks. They didn't seem to warrant the clearness and lucidity light – even electrical light from a crappy light bulb hanging from a crappy ceiling with a crappy wire – would provide.

"I know that, Gene," Sam said, but he looked taken aback by the words, from the little Gene could make out in the darkness. "Otherwise I wouldn't have make it to DI."

"Not good enough for DCI, though, Sammy," he continued, both of them pretending not to hear the lie in there.

Sam snorted, sounding genuinely amused. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

"I rarely am," Gene pointed out.

Except when it came to Sam bloody Tyler, of course. Sam Tyler was a funny bloke, more predictable than a Swiss watch and yet he made mad cuckoos seem as reasonable as the _Nine O'Clock News_ bloke.

"You're a good copper."

"You already said that," Sam mumbled, laying his forehead on his folded arms.

"What do you want me to say, then?" Gene snorted, draining his glass, his right hand already searching around for the bottle. "That you're a good man?"

Sam said nothing.

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, sunshine, but you're not a good man."

Sam was still silent.

Gene drained his refill as well, then he looked down and considered what he could see of the top of Tyler's head. "You're not a good man, Sam," he said, "but I've met worse."

Sam laughed. "Is that supposed to reassure me?" he asked. "You work side by side with criminals!"

So he did.

But so did Sam.

 

*  
**  
*

 

Ray came back from the board with all the darts. "'nother match, Guv?" he asked.

"Wouldn't mind winning again, Carling," Gene said, draining the last of his beer. He turned to catch Nelson's eye and ask for a refill when he noticed Tyler sitting at the bar, watching them.

Next to him, Ray snorted. "Poncy bastard," he mumbled, and threw the first dart.

"Watch your mouth, Ray," Gene said, turning around. "That's your superior you're talking about."

Ray frowned at him, seeming genuinely confused. "It's _Tyler_, Guv," he said as if 'Tyler' and 'poncy bastard' were commonly interchangeable.

Well, they usually were in Gene's vocabulary, but Gene was the Guv and he could call people names, Ray wasn't and couldn't. Tyler would have said something about the chain of command and the proper respect owed to your superiors, which was basically the same thing, just more wordy.

"Shut it, Carling," Gene said, slamming the darts down and making his way towards the bar.

When he sat down on the stool next to Sam's, he already had a pint waiting for him.

"Good game, Guv?" Sam asked, a smirk hiding in his eyes.

"Shut it, Tyler," he grunted, draining half the pint in one go.

Sam laughed softly, right arm and thigh pressing lightly against Gene's left side. When Tyler gave him a sideways glance he knew it wasn't accidental.

Gene adjusted on his stool, leaning a little to the left.

 

*  
**  
*

 

 

"So let's shake this tree and see if the bad apple falls off," Gene said and Ray nodded and walked away.

Opposite him, Sam was staring at him.

"What?" he barked.

Tyler said nothing, he just flickered his eyes at Ray's retreating back and then back to stare at Gene again.

"If you gotta say something, say it."

"Remember Garrity," Sam said. "We can't-"

"Oh, you-" Gene snorted, rolling his eyes. "Don't start."

"I'm just-"

"Tyler."

"Gene."

"_Sam_."

"_Hunt_."

Sam was openly glaring at him now, and they were standing close, very little space between the two of them. He could feel the warmth of Sam's skin through their shirts.

A hush had descended on the conversations in the room, everyone staring at them.

"All right!" Gene exclaimed suddenly, and grinned when Sam did a double take.

_Expecting a fight there, Sammy?_

Gene Hunt could be unpredictable too.

"Let's do this your way, DI Tyler," he said, putting on his coat. The keys to the Cortina clinked against the spare coins in one of his pockets. He extended a hand. "After you."

"Sure, Guv," Sam said and when he glanced at him, he was smiling.

He smiled all the way to the car.

 

*  
**  
*

 

"Can I bum one?"

The question was unexpected, and Gene turned to glance at Sam with a frown. Tyler's breath was visible in the cold January morning, and it curled and swirled in the air like cigarette smoke.

Gene shoved a hand in his pocket and came up with his crumpled pack of fags. His crumpled, _empty_ pack of fags. With a grimace he offered the one he already had in his mouth to Sam, and when Tyler took it he leaned over to light it.

Sam's breath was a warm impression on Gene's left cheek.

"Didn't know you smoke," he said as Sam took a drag.

"I quit," Sam replied, then a moment later he asked, "want me to come with when you tell the mother?"

Gene snagged the fag from Sam's mouth and took a drag himself. He stood a little closer to him for warmth. "We're sharing," he said.

 

*  
**  
*

 

The floor in Sam's flat was unexpectedly comfortable; more than his bed or his chairs in any case. Not that it was saying much.

Gene blindly reached for the bottle of whiskey as he watched the cigarette smoke lazily rising up in the air. There was a tug at his left arm and he passed the bottle to Sam when he was done drinking.

Gene raised on his elbows to get a better look at Tyler who was laid down next to him, his head in the vicinity of Gene's feet. Lying like this, they looked completely pissed.

"Do you ever think about the future?" Sam asked, suddenly.

Gene took another drag and then spread his arms wide, his left colliding with a boot. Sam gave an annoyed sound and turned around, so that now he was lying perpendicular to him, using Gene's stomach as a pillow.

"What about it? Do I think there are going to be flying cars?" he snorted. "That one day we're gonna live on the moon?"

Sam chuckled, and Gene felt it more than heard it, Sam's shoulders shaking against Gene's side. "No flying cars, Gene," he said.

"The future, huh?" Gene said. "What do I care about it? It's goin' to be here soon enough. I'm gonna think about the present now, since I have a fag and a bottle of whiskey in the present."

"Correction, _I_ have a bottle of whiskey in the present," Sam said, but despite the words he handed it over to Gene.

"And you have a shitty flat," Gene said.

"And you have bad breath."

"And I have whiskey. Once again." Gene retorted. "Don't see what's so bad about the present that I have to worry about the future."

"Indeed," Sam said after a long moment, and when Gene glanced down, Tyler was looking at him.

"Poncy bastard," Gene muttered, but neither of them looked away.

 

*  
**  
*

 

Sam slammed the car door and put on his seat belt as soon as he was settled. "So," he said, staring in front of him at the road, at nothing, "I have a brand new bottle of whiskey at home."

Gene snorted and shook his head. "Oh, have you now?"

Sam turned towards him and he was grinning like the loon he was. "Let's not worry about the future together," he said.

Gene mentally counted how many nights and how many bottles of whiskey had been spent in Sam's flat, in the dark, not worrying about the future. The answer was either too many or not enough, depending on what the question was: should he or did he want to.

And Sam had _asked_, he'd never asked before, they had just sort of fallen in the routine.

"To hell with our livers," Sam suddenly exclaimed, his grin widening, "we have all the present we could ever want and we don't have to worry about the future. So, what do you say?"

So, Sam Tyler was a mad bastard. But Gene knew him as well as anyone could, and he could move around in his apartment with his eyes closed, and he could pick up Sam's smell - no matter how faint - in the Cortina and in that torture device Tyler called bed.

And Sam had whiskey at home.

"I swear, sometimes I don't know why the hell I listen to you," Gene muttered, turning on the engine. "Bloody nutter, that's what you are."

Sam smiled – no, _grinned_ at him. "Who's the more foolish: the fool, or the fool who follows him?" he asked and then he gave a hearty laugh.

Gene stared at him. "I don't know, which one is called Sam Tyler?"

They drove away, Sam's laughter still echoing clearly in Gene's ears.


End file.
